


Ghost Mitosis

by FutureSeer



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-08-10 21:46:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7862350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FutureSeer/pseuds/FutureSeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fearing for Erin's heart, Abby warns Holtzmann to cool the flirtations. Holtzmann honors this in her own bizarre fashion. Erin is full of angst. Patty says funny, cool things. Kevin is lovably dumb. Oh, and the Ghostbusters save the world, AGAIN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I.

**I.**

Jillian Holtzmann is a genius. But, you wouldn’t know it. Her crazed flyaway hair, tinted glasses and stained coveralls are more the style of a grease monkey or some sort of steampunk cosplayer. At least, those were Abby’s thoughts when Holtzmann kicked open the door of her lab at Higgins Institute. Over her shoulder, she carried a backpack held together by duct tape and a Stone Roses patch.  
Abby capped her pen and regarded this strange apparition before her.

“Can I help you?”

Holtzmann grinned and swung her glasses down so they dangled on one ear.

“You want to catch ghosts, right?”

Abby frowned, “Did Daniel Peters put you up to this?” Dr. Peters was a bored, cynical chemical engineer at Higgins; his only pleasure came from taking the piss out of the Paranormal Investigation Department, which was comprised of only one faculty member and a few kooky undergrads looking to bolster their resumes with extracurriculars. So, really, Peters only liked taking the piss out of Dr. Abby Yates.

“Never trust a man with two first names,” she said and gave Abby a little wink.

Abby raised her eyebrows, “Who are you?”

“Apologies, m’lady,” she sunk into a deep bow, “Dr. Jillian Holtzmann, at your service.”

“Are you serious?” Abby gaped: This was the doctoral candidate that had the likes of Edward Witten salivating-- I am the foremost theoretical physicist and even I couldn’t dream up the circuitry of Jillian Holtzmann’s brain. Abby dredged up all the tidbits on Holtzmann from her memory: She had finished her PhD defense at MIT by age twenty and, due to a radical and subversive blueprint on a device that split atoms allowing corporeal passage to alternate dimensions, all funding was cut and she had disappeared from the engineering world entirely.

“I’m not what you expected,” Holtzmann acquiesced, “I get that a lot.”

Abby remembered herself, “I’m sorry, Dr. Holtzmann. Forgive me. It’s truly an honor to meet you.”

“Likewise.” Holtzmann extended her hand, but when Abby went to shake it, she found a closed fist. Holtzmann knocked her fist against Abby’s palm. “Boom!” she broke apart her fingers, the universal sign for an explosion.

Abby shook her head, smiling despite herself.

“We’ll work on our handshake,” said Holtzmann, “I come bearing gifts.” With that, she stoops down and unzips her bag, exposing a pastiche of steel planes and copper tubes bolted to complexly wired circuit boards.

Abby stooped down as well to get a better look. Holtzmann freed the device from the bag and laid it tenderly on the floor as if she were handling an infant.

“Is that--” Abby began.

“Yeah, I’ve been working for years on this baby.”

“It looks like a mini particle accelerator.”

“That’s because it is. A mini cyclotron to be exact.”

Abby was aghast: “But, the latest accelerator is the size of a small town!”

“They don’t have the Holtzmann finesse,” she said, a bit saucily.

Abby looked up into a pair of clear blue eyes. Those were honest eyes. “Does it work?”

“If you mean generally, yes. If you mean, have I successfully captured an electron mitosis? Not yet.” These words tumbled out on a single breath and Abby is struck by the lack of embarrassment in her tone. Perhaps, Abby should take a leaf from Holtzmann’s book and quit being an apologist for paranormal research.

“But, do you realize what this means?!” Abby sputtered, “If your accelerator works, you’ve normalized the technology! No more billions of dollars in subsidy! Poor physicists like me can do independent research!”

“True,” replied Holtzmann, “I built this thing out of junked cathode ray tubes from old computers-- but, Dr. Yates, I think you’re missing the point.”

“Call me Abby.”

“Abby.” Holtzmann smiles subtly, “You’re missing the whole glorious point.”

 

Abby sits up in her chair. She snaps her fingers excitedly. That was it! The whole glorious point! She casts around the firehouse, which had become the Ghostbusters’ new headquarters, looking for a certain quaffed engineer. There’s Erin pouring over old notes on nuclear structures, chewing on the end of her pencil. She knows Patty had gone out to get dinner for them. Kevin had left early to make tryouts for New York’s first ever professional flip-cup team. Abby frowns, knowing she had just seen Holtzmann go into the bathroom.

“Is Holtzmann still in there?” calls Abby.

Erin looks up; her eyes are like a raccoon’s. They had all been working double-time in the last months under a rather oppressive government agenda: Find a way to prevent Rowan’s Vortex--as it had come to be known--from ever happening again.

“What?”

“Is Holtzmann still in the bathroom?”

Erin gives a non-committal shrug. “I’m not her keeper.”

“Riiiiight,” Abby drawls. Erin had been too disinterested about Holtzmann recently and, after all these years, Abby knows when Erin is being deliberately coy. She would have to revisit that.

Erin hangs her head, “Yep, she’s still in there.”

Abby giggles and walks down the hall to the bathroom.

 

“Holtzmann! You in there?” calls Abby, knocking on the door.

There is a muffled bang, something metal hitting porcelain, a swear, the sound of a tap squeaking shut.

“Holtz, if you’re flushing hazardous waste down the john again, so help me God I’ll---”

The door swings open and there stands a rather frazzled Jillian Holtzmann, drenched collar to belt in blue tinted water.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she says.

Abby laughs, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m building a Cartesian Diver.”

“A what?” Abby pauses, “Wait, nevermind-- I need to talk to you.”

Holtzmann nods and beckons Abby through, “Step into my office, Dr. Yates.”

Inside, the toilet is overflowing with blue dye and small packets of soy sauce. Abby decides to forge ahead, “Do you remember the day we met?”.

“Oh, it’s one of _those_ talks.” Holtzmann leans cavalierly against the sink and winks.

“In your dreams, Holtzmann. No, I’m talking about the cyclotron, the one you brought to me that first day.”

“Go on.”

“Have you successfully witnessed an electron split?”

Holtzmann counts her fingers, “One, two… seventy-eight times.”

“Okay, okay,” Abby concedes, “Elementary. But, you still think it’s possible to examine the energy transfer at that moment of mitosis?”

“Hmm… interesting, Dr. Yates. You mean capture and preserve the moment of mitosis?”

“Yes.”

“I’m an engineer, it’s a little beyond my reach. I can calibrate the accelerator and whip up some extra-super-sensitive body tubes. Why don’t you let Gilbert take a crack at it?”

Abby considers this, a little hurt that Holtzmann had deferred to Erin as the expert. “Sure. Yeah, I’ll talk to her about it.”

“What’s your game here, Abby?” Holtzmann asks, pushing her glasses up, “Why are you suddenly so interested in my youthful aspirations?”

“Okay, you know how Homeland Security has been breathing down our necks?” Here, Abby becomes excited. “What if we’re spending our energy thinking of ways to close the portal to the Afterlife, when we should really be thinking of _opening_ it.”

Holtzmann fixes her with a serious look. She advances, grabbing Abby’s face with both hands, and peers gravely into her eyes. “Rowan, is that you?”

Abby slaps her hands away, “No. Jesus Christ! You get possessed by a ghost one time!”

“Sorry,” says Holtzmann, “Had to be sure. So, what’s this? You want to open the portal?”

“Yes, I want to travel through to the other side and---”

“Take the fight to them,” Holtzmann finishes. She too, snaps her fingers.

Abby smiles, maybe she had adopted the gesture from the erratic engineer. That happens when you spend a lot of time with a person.

“You want to harness and amplify the energy of an electron split,” Holtzmann continues, “and use it to rip a hole in the space-time continuum so that we can get through and blow the shit outta ghosts!”

“Yeah-- I would probably use different terminology-- but yes! Essentially, yes!”

Holtzmann begins hopping on one foot, her wave of blond hair bouncing comically. “We’re gonna build a bomb, a big bomb, I’m talking the purest nuclear fission. And then we’re gonna put it in a paper bag and light it on fire and ding-dong ditch Beezlebub himself!”

Both women begin to squeal, Abby jumps with Holtzmann, swinging her arms around the engineer’s neck.

“Who are we bombing?” Erin appears in the threshold, arms crossed.

Holtzmann hops over toward Erin, towing Abby with her, and envelops the mousy physicist so they are a giant hugging octopus.

“Abby’s a genius! Abby’s a genius!” Holtzmann cries.


	2. II.

Holtzmann had burned through ten cigarettes in twenty minutes. She is on her eleventh when Erin Gilbert walks into her lab on the second floor. Cautiously, Erin approaches the engineer’s drafting table from behind and peers down onto a series of sketches and diagrams, ink-stained, coffee-stained, blue-stained with… something. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.” 

Holtzmann starts violently and turns, coughing out a puff of smoke in Erin’s face. “I didn’t know you were a ninja.” 

Erin waves her hand, dispersing the smoke. “Abby told me you were stuck.”

Holtzmann nods and takes another drag. 

“Seriously, Holtz, those things will kill you.” 

The engineer blows a perfect ring through pursed fish lips. “I just started.” 

“Can I help?” 

“Sure, if you could just shotgun the rest of this for me…”

“I mean, can I help with whatever problem you’re having with the accelerator?” 

“Ah, straight to business. I like that in a woman,” Holtzmann smiles and Erin can feel it in her elbows, “As you can see, Doctor, this man is dead.” She points at the sketches. 

Erin quirks an eyebrow. 

“We’ve trialled seven times, I’ve tinkered, I’ve tonkered,” she runs a hand through her hair, “and no cigar.” 

“Did you try adjusting the calibration?” 

Holtzmann gives her a look, “Duh.” 

“Replacing the cathode rays?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“Fine-tuning the… whatsit… okay, I’ve run out of jargon. I have no idea, Holtzmann. Engineering is not my field. Patty sent me up to see if you wanted to come out for a drink.”

“A drink? A drink! At a time like this?!” Holtzmann bolts from her stool and starts figure-eighting around her various machinery, around drills presses, compressors, generators, rusted tool boxes, extraction hoods and radiation cubes. She throws her cigarette into a vacuum funnel she had been experimenting with to try and mimic a black hole. She has a feeling there are a lot of cigarette butts appearing out of thin air in Michigan. 

“Holtz, I’ve never seen you like this,” says Erin, following her through the annals of the laboratory. She hears something crunch underfoot and realizes that Holtzmann had sprinkled a layer of kitty litter over half of the lab floor. 

The engineer stops suddenly and turns on her heel; Erin crashes into her. Even though Holtzmann is shorter than Erin, she is solid on her feet and easily steadies the physicist. Erin can feel the tickle of a stray blonde hair.

“I’m so close,” she squeezes Erin’s shoulders, speaking quietly, “I’m so close, but I can’t touch it.” 

Erin swallows evenly, her cheeks flushed with color. “Maybe Abby’s idea is a little far-fetched…” 

“Engineering is the practice of the impossible.”

“Sure, but I’ve been thinking… what about the moral concerns?”

Holtzmann releases Erin and steps back. “What moral concerns?” 

“If we do find a way to get through the portal, what then? We destroy the Afterlife? We have absolutely no data on that dimension's physical laws. If we destroy the ghosts, will there no longer be death? Will we be immortal? Will another dimension expand and throw the whole universe off kilter? What if we--”

“I would like that drink,” says Holtzmann, throwing on her leather jacket, “and I would like to buy you a drink.” 

Erin presses her lips thinly together. “We’ll talk later… yeah, we’ll talk later.” 

Holtzmann is already spiralling down the firepole. 

 

All four Ghostbusters sit in Rocket Cat, one of Holtzmann’s haunts-- so to speak. They are crowded around a small table in the corner, pressed up against hipsters with rat tails and sleeve tattoos. 

“A beard ain't never looked good on a man and never will,” says Patty, casting about the dive bar, “Beards should be practical, like the Amish or the Muslims who grow ‘em after they marry a bitch. Or, to keep warm in winter.”

“I’d grow a beard if I could,” says Holtzmann, swigging from her PBR. 

“I happen to like a well-groomed beard,” says Abby, “and a top hat.”

“Girl, no wonder you never have a date!” laughs Patty, “you holdin’ out for Abe Lincoln!”

Abby cracks up and turns to Erin, who had been sipping quietly from her white wine spritzer: “What about you, any luck with Tweedle-Hottie?” She meant Kevin, their lovable but painfully dumb secretary. 

If possible, Erin shrinks even more in her chair. “I'm over him.”

Holtzmann leans forward. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Erin straightens, “a woman of my standing shouldn't be so easily swayed by such a tall, beautiful paragon of manliness…”

“Yeah, you sound over him,” says Patty, “over the moon, maybe.”

“No, seriously guys,” defends Erin, “I've accepted the fact that he will never see me as more than--”

“Sole-proprietor of a tiny bow tie shop?” interjects Holtzmann. 

Erin frowns, fingering the collar of her current tweed skirt suit. “I think they're cute…”

“You're cute,” counters Holtzmann, “with or without the bow ties. Kevin's a fool.”

Patty and Abby exchange a sidelong look. They’ve suffered through countless weeks of Holtzmann’s shameless flirting and Erin's shameful blushing and sweating and stuttering. Last week, Erin had betrayed her growing anxiety on the matter and sidled up to Abby's desk. She asked for a pencil sharpener and slowly turned her (not dull) utensil over Abby's trash can. After a moment, Erin cracked. 

_ “Do you think she's for real?”  _

_ Abby feigned ignorance. _

_ “Holtzmann.” _

In all honesty, Abby didn't know what to advise. Holtzmann was a consummate flirt; she hit on anything that walked upon two legs: men and women alike, all ages, races, body types. She knew Holtzmann preferred women, but had never known her to date anyone seriously. There had been many a dazed undergrad to show up in the paranormal research lab and demand to know if Dr. Holtzmann was around. One young woman had even gone so far as to fill the lab with red carnations. Holtzmann had whistled, wide-eyed, and set about dumping all the flowers in a chemical sink and incinerating them with her blowtorch. “I hate carnations,” she said, the flame glowing bright in her yellow safety goggles.

Abby had told Erin as much, compelled her to  _ ask  _ Holtzmann if it mattered to her that much. Erin shrugged and Abby knew she never would muster the audacity. She feared that her friend was succumbing to a serious crush on the brilliant engineer. Despite Erin's (erstwhile) stature as a scientist and laundry list of Ivy League endorsement, she knew Erin to be the same delicate, doe-eyed teenager who cried for days over a harsh word from the popular girls or when Brett Cox, running back on the football team, asked her to prom as a joke.  _ Ghost Girl.  _ God, it wasn’t even a clever insult. 

Abby looks at Holtzmann now, as she reclines in her chair, one arm carelessly thrown over Erin's backrest. She catches the eye of an edgy-looking chick at the next table and gives her a slow wink. A sudden surge of annoyance runs through Abby, which is a first in her considerably long friendship with Holtzmann. Her protectiveness overrides her amusement. She would have to have a word with the engineer. 

 

Abby and Holtzmann had sent Patty off, who had the grueling trek back to Queens; Erin had hailed a cab to her nearby upper east side apartment. 

“You and me, lover,” says Holtzmann, slinging an arm around Abby's shoulders. 

Abby squirms from beneath it, “Seriously Holtzmann, is that the only mode of social interaction you know?”

“Finally getting under your skin, am I, Dr. Yates?” She waggles her eyebrows. 

Abby frowns. “Yes! I want you to cut it out with Erin, okay?” That's not exactly the tact with which she wanted to broach the subject, but the beers had interceded and made her a bit gruff. 

“All in good fun,” she shrugs. 

“Not to Erin,” argues Abby, hands on her hips in that admonishing mother way, “she's been teased her whole life. What she needs is a good friend.”

Holtzmann visibly deflates, coveralls drooping on her small frame. “I uh… I didn't realize. I'm sorry.”

Abby registers the rare serious note in Holtzmann’s apology. She feels bad for being so harsh. “It's okay, Holtz. That's how you roll. In that bizarre, magnetic way and I love that about you, but-- Just, maybe cool it with Erin, okay? She’s sensitive.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Holtzmann nods emphatically, “I get it. I do. I would never hurt her, Abby. She’s one of the best humans I ever met.” 

Abby smiles and ruffles the engineer’s already mussed hair. “Yeah, she is. She saved my life, Holtz. But, before that, she was a great friend to me-- I mean before all the stodgy Columbia bullshit.” 

Holtzmann swats Abby’s hand away and stuffs her hands in the deep pockets of her coveralls. 

“Wanna stay with me, tonight?” asks Abby. She knows Holtzmann had lost her apartment long before they left Higgins and was now sleeping on the old couch she had ‘rescued from the landfill’ and lugged up to the second floor of the firehouse. 

She shrugs. “No can do, Casper needs feeding.” Casper is the name Holtzmann had given to the white rat she used in many of her plasma shield experiments. “He doesn’t like to be left alone for long; he peed on the Lorna Doone I gave him in protest.” 

Abby laughs, “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Holzmann smiles, but it doesn’t really reach her eyes. She turns toward 106th and clicks her heels together. “No place like home.” 


	3. III.

**III.**

 

The next morning, Patty ascends to the second floor with a grease-stained paper bag from the Bagel Hole.

“Holtzy! Breakfast!” she calls, rounding the corner.

She finds Holtzmann sprawled on the couch, clad only in Star Trek boxers and a wifebeater which looks as if it had been clawed off her body. Casper sits perched on Holtzmann’s chest and looks at Patty with his beady black eyes like she had walked in on something private. He seems to be munching on an errant Pringles chip. There are PBR cans littering the floor, an overflowing ashtray, and a pervasive scent of stale smoke, oil and something like cheap perfume.

“Don’t look at me,” Holtzmann grumbles. She closes her small hands around Casper and sets him gingerly on the floor.

“Baby, you wrecked,” says Patty.

Holtzmann stands slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. If the state of her hair is any indication, Patty bets the engineer is sporting one hell of a hangover. Her torn shirt hangs open, exposing a ratty sports bra and pale skin marred by galaxies of bruises and bite marks that trail all the way up her neck. She glances to Holtzmann’s forearm, reading a name and phone number scrawled in red lipstick.

“Who the hell is ‘Cookie’?” asks Patty, trying for the life of her to hold in the joke.

“Never heard of her,” says Holtzmann, then follows Patty’s eyes to her forearm and grins. “Ah, well it seems ‘Cookie’ was my dessert.”

There’s the joke.

“You’re damn near worse than a man!” says Patty, cackling.

“Hey! Someone say bagels--” Abby surfaces on the second floor, Erin on her heels. They both stop abruptly at the sight.

“Holy Hell,” mutters Abby.

“Girl had a wild night,” Patty supplies.

“What? Holtzmann!” yells Abby.

“Please, lower the decibel of your judgement. My brain feels like Hiroshima.”  She makes a whistling sound and an explosion, dropping back on the couch.

“I thought you went home last night,” says Abby.

“I did. But, not before I picked up a case and a Cookie, apparently,” she says.

Abby tutts, but says no more, grabbing the paper bag from Patty’s hand. She selects an ‘everything’ bagel and a plastic cup of cream cheese.

“You look like Courtney Love and a hurricane had a crack baby,” laughs Patty.

Holtzmann pulls a face. “Aw, that’s what Mama used to say.”

Erin edges further into the lab, trying to ignore the warring jealousy and strange attraction she feels to this rather _undone_ version of the engineer. Christ, Erin had only seen Holtzmann in shorts for the first time last Wednesday, when Holtzmann had lit her pants on fire while testing the new proton shotgun. “Ah, fire crotch!” She yelled and dropped drawer. This was outside, in the back lot of the firehouse. _She wears shorts under her pants?_ is all Erin can remember thinking. _Just like she wear gloves under her gloves._ There are many layers to Jillian Holtzmann.

Erin digs in her purse a moment and fishes out a travel bottle of Ibuprofen. She takes a seat on the edge of the couch next to Holtz and hands her a few pills.

“You'll need these,” says Erin, surprising herself with a calm tone. She pauses, looking at the smudged lipstick on Holzmann’s arm, “Who’s Cookie?”.

“Her dessert ho--” says Patty.

“No one,” says Holtzmann, quickly.

“I'll get you a bottle of water,” says Erin, standing, her posture stiff.

Holtzmann shoots a rather helpless look in Abby's direction. Abby only frowns around a mouthful of bagel and cream cheese.

 

Erin realizes around eleven o’clock that night that Holtzmann had yet to be seen. After a morning bagel, she had shuffled to her stereo and put on Jazkamer at full blast. Experimental death metal and industrial clangs kept the rest of the group at bay.

Abby and Patty had both departed in the last hour and Erin feels alone now for first time in a long while, even though she knows Holtzmann is upstairs. Erin knew better than to ask Abby or Patty about Holtz’s behavior; she knew what they would say. _Give her space. Sometimes she needs to hammer on stuff and listen to loud music. Her tornado needs to spin out on a bleak, flat stretch of solitude._

So, Erin finds herself taking the stairs, one slow step after another.

 

From the landing, she can hear the thrum of some deep house music, bass echoing through the firehouse’s high ceilings. It seems to be dark in the lab, but upon stepping around a large pillar, Erin can see a head of wild blonde hair bent over a workbench. There is only the glow of various machines and a single bar of black fluorescent light suspended by chains above. It throws the engineer’s shadow high against the back wall.

Erin doesn’t say anything, but Holtzmann looks up, somehow sensing her presence. Her face is covered by large yellow goggles, three magnifying lenses pulled down over her right eye. The bass thrums and low heavy synths drone against brick and cement. Erin cannot seem to manage another step. Holtzmann, in this moment, is truly the mad scientist, untouchable and crazed.

Holtzmann breaks first, spinning on her stool to switch off the music. The wake of silence is deafening.

“Apologies, thought I was alone,” she says, pushing her goggles up. The metal snags on a curl of hair and Holtzmann swears, tugging it clear.

“Why? Planning a rave?” Erin blurts.

Holtzmann cracks a smile.

“I’m sorry you had to see me in my underpants this morning,” she says quickly.

Erin giggles nervously. “Oh, it wasn’t so bad.”

“Oh really?” She leans forward, grins roguishly. Then, something seems to occur to her and she straightens, sobers. “I mean, thank you. Er, I mean sorry again. Sorry, sorry, sorry.” She tugs at the zipper of her dark green jumpsuit.

“Holtz,” Erin deadpans, “It’s okay.”

“Friendship,” Holtzmann mutters.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

Erin chews her bottom lip. “What are you working on that could possibly necessite blacklight.”

Holtzmann perks up at this. “I…” she springs from her stool and circles around the workbench toward Erin, “I’ve had something of an inspiration.” Taking her goggles off, she beckons Erin toward her. She then slides her goggles down over Erin’s eyes and clicks down the the magnifiers.

Erin feels tilted by the view, all yellow tint and purple light and Holtzmann’s face so close to her own. _This must be what acid is like_ , muses Erin, _Is this how Holzmann always sees the world?_

A gloved palm wraps around Erin’s wrist and she can so acutely feel the warm, calloused fingertips pressing into her skin. Holtzmann pulls her to the workbench whereon lies a swath of white cloth.

“Look closely,” says the engineer, bending down close to the cloth.

Erin bends, and can now see tiny metal shavings littered on its surface. Some pieces are dark shapes, others are glowing fluorescent. Holtzmann slips a pair of tweezers into Erin’s hand. Taking the cue, Erin picks up one tiny glowing particle and examines it. She needs a proper microscope to be sure, but it looks like radioactive material.

“What is this?” she asks.

Holtzmann’s voice comes close to her ear, “It’s the key to the door.”

Erin drops the tweezers and straightens. “What do you mean?”

“I took some sample shavings from one of Rowan’s portal devices. It didn’t occur to me before, but I decided to look for some simple chemical forensic traces. And _voila!_ ” Holtzmann snaps her fingers, “I found the nuclear building block that allowed Rowan to breach the Barrier. It’s all so simple, really. You and Abby proved it in theory. And here it was, sitting under my nose all this time.”

Erin is floored. “You found the mitosis in a nuclear agitant?”

“And it can be seen by the naked eye, baby,” says Holtzmann, “Well, almost naked.” She fingers the goggles on Erin’s face.

Erin has the grace to blush and pull off the goggles. She slides the strap over Holtzmann’s hair until they sit rather comically over one of her eyebrows.

“You’re a genius, Holtz,” she says, quietly and almost with reverence.  

There is a moment where both women are proximally unaware, caught in each other’s gravitation. In fact, Erin is about to close her eyes and surrender to nature’s strongest force, when Holtzmann suddenly whips away.

“I have a beer in the freezer,” she says and wheels toward the mini fridge that sits in the corner of her lab. Erin doesn’t even register that there is no freezer component, she feels so off-center. What was that? That connection, like a taut rope, snapped in half.

“Can I have a beer?” she asks, for lack of anything else to say.

Holtzmann does not turn and instead, waves her hand a little manically at Erin.

“I am a human that sleeps,” she says.

“Oh,” says Erin, deflated, “Okay. Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Night, GIlbert.” Hotlzmann still hasn’t faced her and it is so strange and compelling that Erin almost goes to her. Then, she stops, reconsiders, and turns toward the stairs.

“Goodnight, you beautiful weirdo.”


	4. IV

IV.

“Okay, I’m gonna need this again in real talk,” says Patty. She is lucky that her speaking voice is naturally louder than the average person’s, for Patty can barely hear herself over the whooping and cheering. It’s a product of growing up in a family of twelve, all of whom had full-court projection. Patty Tolan has never had trouble being heard. 

Her friends don’t make her feel dumb when she asks for clarification. Though, she finds it difficult to get her scientist friends to slow down enough to properly explain physics concepts that would throw even the brightest doctoral student. Patty has found academics are potentially some of the worst communicators. Take Holtzy and Erin, for example. Abby had filled Patty in on the damage-control she’d done.  It didn’t take an advanced degree to figure out the blatant misunderstanding. Abby assumed Holtz’s flirtation with Erin is superficial, when it so clearly is not. Not that Holtz had said anything on the subject, but Patty considers herself a rather intuitive person: People are like books. Sure, you can read what’s written on the page, but real meaning comes from subtext. So, she knows Holtz harbors real feelings for Erin, but doesn’t trust herself enough to know the difference and has heeded Abby’s warning, however misguided. And this assumption is based on an array of subtextual clues: hasty looks, blushes, stumbling words, nervous hands. And Gilbert, well, she is more difficult to read. Patty suspects that Erin doesn’t even know how Erin feels. 

“Calm down, yo!” Patty wraps two large hands over Holtzmann’s narrow shoulders and pushes down, attempting to still the bouncing engineer. 

Abby and Erin have locked hands and are whirling each other around the firehouse, like a pair of dervishes.

“We’re geniuses!” calls Abby, finally winding down, “Oh, I’m dizzy.”  

“Booyah!” agrees Holtzmann. 

“Sorry, Patty,” says Erin, crossing back to Abby’s desk where Patty had planted herself, “It’s just… well, this is really an historic moment in physics.” 

“Go on, Einstein,” says Patty. 

“Last night, Holtzmann found the nuclear particle that made Rowan’s breach possible--”

“I hate to say it, but the little vermit was clever,” chimes Holtzmann. 

“But,” continues Erin, “he couldn’t control the breach. It was either small, localized portals or… you know, a vortex the size of New York.” 

“So, using his nuclear structure,” Abby cuts in, “our formulas and Holtzmann’s cyclotron schematics--”

“We can cross the divide by molecularly splitting apart and re-materializing on the other side,” finishes Erin. 

“I’m calling it the Ghost Mitosis,” says Holtzmann, doing a little two-step, “Catchy, huh?” 

“Mmk Shakespeare,” says Patty, “So, what ya’ll are telling me is that we can get to the ghosts before the ghosts get to us?” 

“Precisely,” says Abby. 

“I’ve already started drafting an augmentation to the existing cyclotron,” says Holtzmann. Erin gives the engineer a melty kind of smile that is only noticed by Patty. 

“That’s the craziest shit I ever heard!” says Patty. 

“Admittedly, I thought it was a bit whackadoo myself,” says Holtzmann, “but, if the science is right-- which it is-- it’s an inevitability.” 

“If this doesn’t get us a Nobel Prize, I don’t know what will,” says Erin, a little dreamily. 

“Only if I get the Peace Prize for dealing with you crazy bitches,” says Patty, though affectionately. Her friends’ enthusiasm is infectious. 

“I say a celebration is in order,” says Abby, nearly galloping to the kitchenette at the back of the firehouse. She pulls open the fridge and pokes her head inside. “Hmm… only one pickle and a half-eaten cupcake.” 

“I’ll go get beer!” volunteers Holtzmann. 

“I’ll go with you,” says Erin, quickly, “to, you know, help you carry it because I’m stronger than this noodle-like form suggests.” 

Patty does not miss the look that passes between Holtzmann and Abby. “Abby and I will order wings and shit,” she says. 

“Hands in, team!” says Holtzmann, throwing her hand out like a varsity jock. No one moves. “Or not. Come on, Gilbert, to the batmobile!” 

Erin follows Holtzmann out the door like a lost puppy. 

 

New York in early autumn is the city at its best. The air is crisp and cool, some of the heady smells have dissipated with the heat, and you can actually see some faint stars in the clear sky above. Erin shivers. Though taller, Erin finds herself jogging to keep pace with Holtzmann. 

“Hey, slow down, champ!” she calls. 

Holtzmann looks over her shoulder and quells her pace, allowing Erin to catch up. “Trying to keep your organs in?”

Erin raises an eyebrow, then looks down at her arms wrapped around her thin frame like a human tamale. “No, I’m just cold.” 

Immediately, Holtzmann shrugs off her leather jacket and drapes it around Erin’s shoulders. Is this flirting? No, it’s not flirting. It’s practicum. Her friend is cold, she is not, transfer jacket-- problem solved. In truth, Abby’s admonition had really resounded in Holtzmann’s brain. It checked and informed each of her interactions with Erin. And she wasn’t a complete dingbat; she knew she was giving Erin whiplash. But, Abby was right: Erin needs a friend, not someone incapable of commitment, of normal dating ritual or of owning a good hairbrush. Someone like herself. Holtzmann didn’t trust herself with Erin, didn’t trust her feelings. Outliers do not make good data points for a readable delta curve. So, she had been suppressing and questioning her innate attraction to the physicist, erring on Abby’s better judgement. The only risk in this contingency is that Erin would think she was weird, unknowable. Really, what’s the difference?

Yet, there’s that small smile on her face. That soft look in her eyes when she pushes her arms through the jacket. The quiet “thank you” on her lips. Holtzmann turns away sharply and continues on her trajectory toward the convenient store. 

 

“Yeah, that’s what I said, son-- four pineapple pizzas, one half-mushroom, half-bacon, three orders of spicy buffalo wings. Aw, hell no, you didn’t just say that. No, it ain’t for a party. It’s just for me, bitch! I’m a grown ass woman! You clearly ain’t never had a curvy woman in your life!” 

Abby lays a hand on Patty’s arm: “Patty, they’re gonna jerk off on our food if you keep going.” 

Patty narrows her eyes and finishes berating the pizza boy. “Worst phone etiquette I ever heard. If his Mama only knew…” 

“They’ve been gone a long time. Don’t you think they’re been gone a long time?” says Abby, wringing her hands together. 

“What? Who?” 

“Holtz and Erin.” 

“Girl, it’s like an eight-block walk, and plus, they both got chicken arms.” 

“I’m gonna text Erin--” Abby pulls out her phone. 

“Alright, I’ve had it,” says Patty, swatting the phone out of Abby’s hand, “you’re like a clucking mother hen with those two.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, live and let live. If Holtzy and Erin got the hots for each other, that’s their own business.” 

“Ew, gross,” whines Abby. 

“Really? I think it’s cute as shit what they got going, but not when you’re meddling around and making them more anxious than they need to be about it.” 

“Okay, okay, I know. Not my business. But, don’t you think it would be weird? We work together and, on top of that, we’re friends. It would just mess up the group vibe, don’t you think?” 

“Girl, it’s already messing up the vibe. Can’t you see that those two are like gaping fishes around each other, swimming ‘round the issue, ‘cus they think you’re gonna be mad. Man, love is one of those things that should be simple, but it never is.” 

“Whoa, hold on, love? Nah, this is just a stupid infatuation. Erin just likes the attention and Holtzmann, well, I’ve never seen her serious about anyone.” 

“First time for everything, right? Plus, you blind as a bat, Abby.” Patty plucks Abby’s glasses off her face and holds them high overhead. 

Abby jumps at the dangling glasses, “You’re such an Amazonian. Asshole.” 

Just then, the side door bangs open and Holtzmann comes swinging through backward, two cases of beer tucked under her arms. 

“You’re such a chauvinist!” says Erin, entering after her, a light bag of limes clutched in her hands. 

“Chivalry isn’t dead, sweet cheeks,” says Holtzmann, nearly dropping a case.  

Abby finally manages to grab her glasses and sticks them back on. When she does, she sees Erin blushing like a schoolgirl, wearing Holtzmann’s leather jacket like a letterman. By God, she’s right, thinks Abby. Patty is a genius.  


	5. V.

Abby has been meaning to recant. Really, she has. Especially since witnessing the poor spectacle Erin has made of herself this last week. How she would manufacture excuses to visit the second floor lab:  _ My computer’s doing the pinwheel of death again, think Holtzmann can fix it? I heard scurrying; I think Casper’s in the wall, better go check the cage.  _ Everyone  _ needs a drink of something sometime, Abby.  _ She didn't know what their interactions were like, but, each time, Erin would slink back downstairs, dejected, and slip quietly behind her desk. 

But, they had been so busy with preparations and Holtzmann had been all but camping in her lab, blasting Patti Smith’s _Horses_ on repeat. Abby simply didn't see a fitting opportunity to talk to either of them. Maybe it had a little to do with her pride. Maybe. 

A shadow looms over her desk. “Yo, ground control to Yates,” says Patty, waving her hand. 

“What? Sorry. What's up?”

“Man, did ya’ll mix Percocet with your Cheerios this morning?”

Abby hears Erin snicker from her corner. 

“I said,” Patty drawls exasperatingly, “I got an email back from Miss Stick-Up-Her-Butt about a meeting with the Mayor. Says he has time tomorrow for lunch.”

“Don't you think it's a little premature?” asks Erin. She twirls a marker around and fumbles; it clatters onto her desk. 

“We gotta appease Daddy Warbucks,” explains Patty, “I dunno if you Major Toms have noticed, but our cash flow is tricklin’.”

“Should we brief him on the Plan?” wonders Abby. It was definitely a plan with a capital ‘P’. 

“I don't think we have all the requisite data, yet,” says Erin, “I'd rather approach him when we have all our ducks in a row.”

“He's not gonna care if  _ x=y _ , guys,” says Patty, “all he needs are a few props to back up our budget.” 

Abby considers this. “I wonder where Holtz is with the cyclotron.”

Erin shoots up from her chair, “I'll go ask her.”

“No, I'll ask her,” says Abby, daring Erin to object. 

“But--”

Abby silences her with a look. It needs to be addressed. Patty was right: all is not well in Buster Paradise. 

 

“ _ Go, Rimbaud, go go go! _ ” sings Holtzmann, banging what sounds like a wrench on the metal panel of the cyclotron. 

“Holtz!” shouts Abby, trying to maneuver around a hulking machine that encompasses the entire workbench. It looks like half a junkyard had been welded onto the original prototype Holtz had brought to Higgins some four years ago. She can see a puff of blonde hair bobbing atop the machine. “Holtzmann!” 

No dice. Abby instead elects to unplug the stereo. 

Holtzmann’s head appears. “Not cool, man.” The rest of her body materializes around the cyclotron. 

“Much as I love Patti Smith, Holtz, I need a progress report,” says Abby. 

“On this beauty?” she asks, patting the cyclotron like a beloved old dog. “Man, if the jokers at MIT could see me now. It’s almost done. I sent Casper through the portal and he came back one head, one tail, everything intact. He was  _ covered _ in ectoplasm. Kept licking it off, though. His tiny rat farts are now all Class I apparitions.” She smiles fondly in the direction of Casper’s cage. “All we need is a human trial.” 

Abby touches her nose with a finger, “Nose goes.” 

Holtzmann frowns, “Like I would send any of you precious people. I was thinking Kevin--”

“Holtzmann!” 

She cackles a bit maniacally, “Kidding. Kidding.”

“In any case, how willing are you to demonstrate Ghost Mitosis to the Mayor tomorrow afternoon?” 

“Whhaaattt?” 

“Patty seems to think we need to brief him.” 

“Nope. Not talking to that guy. Waste of my time. Plus, I need to closely monitor Casper for any spectral ‘projections’,” she finishes with air quotes. 

“How many times are you going to use that rat as an excuse?”

“What can I say? Never had a pet growing up. Light of my life, that little guy.” 

“Okay, we can see if the Mayor will trek up here if he requires a demonstration.” 

Holtzmann nods emphatically. “You and Patty and Gilbert can handle all the schmoozing.” 

Abby clears her throat; Holtz had handed her as good a segue as she’d ever get: “We need to talk.” 

“Isn’t that… what we’re doing?” She punctuates by tapping the wrench lightly on Abby’s shoulder. 

“No, I mean about Erin.” 

Holtzmann stiffens and pushes her goggles down. “Like I said, Casper needs--”

“ _ Jillian _ ,” Abby intones. 

“Ah, I hate that,” she says, “Miss Abbott at the Center always said my name like that.” 

Abby softens. It is rare when Holtzmann ever brings up her time in foster care. It isn’t a secret that the engineer is a product of the system, but the memories are difficult and unpleasant and Abby hasn’t wanted to press her on the subject. “Sorry,” she says instead, “But, something needs saying. Things have gotten a little… weird around here.” 

“I did what you asked, Abby.” The words are muted and sincere. 

Abby melts, feeling at once sympathetic and guilty for causing such colossal tension between her two friends. “I know, Holtz, you’ve been downright honorable about the whole situation. But, I just wanted to say… well,  _ ahem _ … I’m sorry.” 

Holtzmann quirks an eyebrow and pushes her goggles up once more. “Sorry? No way. I’m the one who should be sorry. I’m wound like a steel spool. I flirt to release energy and disguise how awkward and crazy I must appear to people. I didn’t mean to--”

“Holtz--”

“--hurt her, Abby. She’s so smart, and such a good friend and so supportive and so- so- fucking  _ adorkable _ in her matching tweeds--”

“Holtzmann!” Abby grabs the engineer’s shoulders and shakes her a bit. 

“What?!” 

“I was wrong.” 

“Huh?” 

“I was wrong about you and her. Patty made me see it. I didn’t think you were serious about Erin. You are serious about her, aren’t you?” 

Holtzmann’s eyes go wide. “I… uh… I don’t know?” 

“This must be pretty confusing for you, huh?” Abby didn’t mean for her tone to sound condescending, but the engineer is acting like a teenager with her first crush and it is so painfully obvious that she hates herself all the more for assuming the role of righteous protector. 

Holtzmann nods, a curl of blonde hair falling over her eye. “I’ve never felt like this before. When I see her… just like walk into a room, or tap a pencil, or do that weird little finger dance, or smile… It feels like I want to cry, dance, and throw up all at the same time.”

Abby cannot help the bark of laughter. 

The eccentric prodigy of the engineering world blushes, actually  _ blushes _ . “I’m glad this is amusing to you.” 

“Oh, Holtz,” croons Abby, drawing the woman to her bosom, “you’re just in love. It’s only love.” 

“Only love,” mumbles Holtzmann, leaning into the embrace. 

After a tight squeeze, Abby releases her. 

“Do you think she likes me back?” 

“I don’t know, Holtz. Erin is really predictable sometimes, but other times, she comes out with some serious left-field shit.” 

“Serious Left-Field is where I live,” says Holtzmann. She pulls her goggles off tucks them preciously into the pocket of her lab coat. Then, she licks the palm of her hand and runs it through her quaffed hair, making it stand at attention. Squaring her shoulders, Holtzmann gets into a running man pose and is ostensibly about to take off but, then she seems to hit the invisible brick wall. “Oh hell. What do I do?” 

Abby smiles. “You could try talking to her.” 

“Right. What do I say?”

“I don’t think you need my help in that department. Holtz, you’re a veritable gay Don Juan.” 

“I’m not a woman of words. I’m a woman of action. Usually, I just kiss the girl and ask her if she wants to have sex.” 

“Yeah… maybe not the best approach with Erin. She’s weirdly traditional. Erin once referred to a second date as a ‘courtship’.” 

Holtzmann buries her face in her hands. “I’m so out of my depth, here.” 

Abby pats her shoulder, “Just tell her the truth, babe. Even if it’s a confusing truth.” 

Holtzmann nods. “I need a cigarette.” 

“You smoke? Since when?” 

“I just started last week. Then I quit. Now, I’m starting again.” 

Abby throws her hands up in the air. “Good Christ. Let me know when this cyclotron is ready for the big leagues.” 

“Will do, Coach!” 

 

“She’s not coming?” says Erin, once she, Abby and Patty had all filed into back of a cab that smelled like stewed cabbage and Axe body spray. 

“Nah, you know how she is,” says Abby, “not one for formalities.” 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… we’re a team and… it’s just weird that she isn’t with us.” 

“Cheer up, boo,” says Patty, from the front seat, “We’ll pick her up some takeout and you can bring it up to her later.” 

“Don’t know if that’s the best idea,” mumbles Erin. 

Abby sighs, “Holtz is just wigging out about her new toy and Casper.”

“Yeah, well I brought some fruit from my compost to give that stupid pet rat of hers and Holtz all but pretended I was invisible. She’s been like that for two whole weeks! What’s gotten into her? Does she act that way with you guys? She doesn’t, does she. Did I do something? Does she hate me?” 

“Woah, slow down, baby girl,” says Patty, “we’re all just under a lot of stress.” She looks pointedly at Abby, “Ain’t we, Abby?” 

“Yep, super stressed.” Abby isn’t sure if she should tell Erin about all that transpired, about her initial anti-matchmaking havoc or yesterday’s pep talk with Holtzmann. Patty thinks she should tell Erin; Abby thinks it would only add to the awkwardness. This is the last time Abby would interfere in the romantic lives of her friends. She’s learned her lesson. 

“She’ll come around,” Abby reassures. _ God, Holtzmann, I hope you grow a pair. _

 

Erin’s legs shake with each step. The plastic bag of Chinese takeout quivers in her hand. She can’t take another episode of Holtzmann’s bizarre brush-offs.  _ This is it _ , Erin goads herself, _ if she ignores me one more time I’ll just ask her what the fuck her problem is.  _ She finds herself on the second-floor landing and no more the braver. 

Bowie is playing on the stereo, the opening riffs of ‘Moonage Daydream’. Erin finds the terrifying engineer sitting cross-legged on the floor, stripping wire, Casper perched on her shoulder. 

“Hey,” greets Erin, lamely. She thrusts the takeout forward. 

Holtzmann merely stares at her, bug-eyed behind her yellow safety glasses. 

“Beef lo mein; there’s a fortune cookie too. I know you love those.” She presses forward and sets the bag down at Holtzmann’s knee. The engineer has yet to acknowledge that there is a human in front of her. 

“Okay,” says Erin, losing all of her earlier indignation, “you should really eat something, Holtz.” She turns curtly, begging a swift exit. 

“ _ Keep your ‘lectric eye on me, babe! _ ” yells Holtzmann, atop Bowie’s vocals. 

Erin turns back around and finds Holtzmann on her feet, all baggy high-waisted pants and wrinkled ‘Science is Cool!’ t-shirt and two different colored Converse. 

“ _ Put your ray gun to my head,”  _ she sings into her wire-strippers, eyes laser-focused on Erin, “ _ Press your space face close to mine, Love!”  _

Erin nearly cries. 

“ _ Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah! _ ” They both croon. Holtzmann wheels toward Erin, grabbing Erin’s hand and draping it over her shoulder. She dances close, rolling her hip out so it brushes against Erin’s. 

“ _ Don’t fake it baby, _ ” Holtzmann mouths, “ _ lay the real thing on me… _ ” 

“Holtzmann,” says Erin, but all words except her name seem meaningless now. The engineer has wrapped an arm around Erin’s neck and is swaying them in time with the guitar swell.  So, Erin merely surrenders, fitting her head neatly into the crook of her partner’s shoulder. She smells like smoke and motor oil and something burnt and sweet and strange. ‘Moonage Daydream’ slides into ‘Starman’ and they might as well be in space for all the peripheral world matters. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> R.I.P. Bowie.


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! Updates will come more regularly now.

VI. 

Abby leans over the table and grabs a spring roll from a paper bag at Holtz’s elbow. 

“Duck sauce?” asks Holtz.

“Duh.”

Holtz grabs a handful of packets and throws them at Abby, who plucks one from her cleavage and rips the packet with her teeth. Erin smiles from her place next to Holtz and takes a small bite of chicken. 

“So, I think we should probably talk about the Mayor’s visit tomorrow,” says Patty, “It’s gonna to be a big day for us. Said Homeland Security, DoD and a goddamn three-star General from CENTCOM will be here.”

“Right. Holtz have you selected a test subject?” asks Abby. 

Holtzmann frowns and scratches the back of her neck. 

“Yes,” Erin jumps in, “We met with two volunteers yesterday.” 

Holtz snorts and pokes her chopsticks into Erin’s szechuan. “One was a homeless lady. The other was a college bro.” She pops a morsel of chicken into her mouth. 

Abby looks on aghast. Erin had let someone eat off her plate. Erin. Certified wouldn’t-eat-her-lunch-if-someone-coughed-within-a-10ft-radius germaphobe. 

“So?” Erin says, “Will seemed like a good fit. No history of heart disease. Full head of hair.” 

“Yo, we ain’t lookin’ for sperm donors,” says Patty, “We’re looking for a human to send through an interdimensional portal.” 

“We said in the ad that the applicant should have few ties to the community–” says Abby.

Holtz is squirming on her stool. She rips a napkin into shreds. When they learned that the government required a demonstration to fully back Ghost Mitosis, all her friends had convinced Holtz to put ads out for a research subject to send through to the other side. The whole idea just didn’t sit well with Holtzmann. 

“He’s a poor college kid? $5,000 is a lot to someone like that,” says Abby. 

“I think we should go with Will,” decides Erin. 

“No!” Holtz vaults from her seat. 

“What? Why?” 

“I’m not sending a bro to do a ho’s job,” she blows a curl of hair from her eyes, “And by ho, I mean Ho-ltzmann.”

The table erupts and all three of her friends launch at her. “What?!” “Are you crazy?!” “Naw, bitch!” 

“Jillian, you can’t be serious,” Erin intones, grabbing hold of the engineer’s sleeve. 

Abby reels. Someone called Holtzmann, Jillian. And she didn’t freak.

“Yeah, Jillian,” Abby reaches across the table and tugs the engineer’s other sleeve, “We know that it’s coming from a good place, but we have to be practical about this. Marines don’t send in a Captain to do to regular guy job… they send a teenager into the jungle with a AK47 and… remember Viet Nam? Okay, you get the point.” 

“Yeah, Holtzy. You’re too valuable,” says Patty, reaching out to grab the end of the engineer’s tie. 

“Will you all unhand me!” cries Holtzmann, twisting away and jogging out a few paces so she stands in the center of the firehouse. The other three sit there looking at her like she’ll start tap dancing. They think Holtzmann looks rather small standing alone in this cavernous room. 

“I couldn’t take it someone died in my machine!” she says, “Not Will, not Ms. Ellis. Not some soldier. Certainly not one of you.” 

There is a long beat where no one speaks. They have all just realized that Holtzmann is crying. There are tears visible on her reddening cheeks. Abby and Erin look at each other. Patty takes a bite of her pork fried rice. Finally, it is Erin who gets up and walks cautiously to the engineer as if worried she might frighten her with a quick movement. Holtzmann is breathing heavily and she flinches when Erin reaches for her shoulder. Erin withdraws her hand and straightens. 

“Let’s go up to the roof, get some air,” she offers. 

Holtz slips her glasses from the pocket of her lab coat, nervously bending the metal mesh out and twisting the thin stems. 

Erin leads her toward the stairs with a nod. Holtzmann looks at Abby and Patty through squinty eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly and hooks her glasses on her ears. 

 

The evening is chill, but the sky is still painted in summer tones, bruised pink and purple near the sunset. Erin walks to the edge of the gable and looks at all the buildings. She hears the muted sounds of traffic, of people yelling from the corner, a dog barking, some motorbike accelerating. She knows Holtzmann is behind her, she just isn’t sure where. So, she directs her next comment to the city. 

“We trust our lives to you every time we go on a bust. Your machines saved this city.” 

A snort carries somewhere from her right shoulder. “A nuclear reactor on a ghost-driven hearse saved the city.” 

Erin turns, “Ugh, it sounds like a zany Hollywood blockbuster when you say it like that.”

Holtz is standing with her hands shoved in her trouser pockets. She produces a rubber ball in one hand and gives it a bounce for good measure. All the while, she regards Erin with a steeled expression. All trace of her earlier tears have vanished and she is now only a portrait of a woman calm in her decision. 

“You threw yourself into the Vortex, Erin,” she says, finally. “You risked your life to save Abby. I’m just asking for the same dignity.” 

Erin blinks, runs her hand through her hair. She is pretending to consider the logic, but can’t keep up the charade for much longer. “No. You know what? Holtz, no. You can’t just send your body, your perfect brilliant brain into another dimension! You can’t! We have no data–”

“Erin–”

“Abby’s right! You don’t send a girl to do a man’s job. No, wait, I’ve mixed my metaphors–”

“Erin–”

“I won’t let you– It’s too hard!”

“Erin!” 

Holtzmann is suddenly right in Erin’s face, smushing Erin’s cheeks together between her palms, rubber ball pressing into the corner of her mouth. “Yes, it’s hard. How the fuck d’ya think I felt when you jumped?”

Erin is caught, quite literally. What does she mean? That she felt this same dead weight in the pit of her stomach at the prospect of losing Erin? That she would volunteer herself a thousand and one grisly, horrible deaths if it would spare Erin one? 

And then Holtz kisses her, simply and without much finesse. Just a big, wet smacker right on the lips. “I trust your science, Erin,” she says, “I’m going full cowboy on the last frontier.” 

And that’s when the lab alarm sounded.


End file.
